


Cliffs

by Writing-Stardew-Valley (writingfanfic)



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 22:18:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14778323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfanfic/pseuds/Writing-Stardew-Valley
Summary: For the prompt: 'do you think you could write some emotional hurt/comfortwith the farmer finding shane very drunk/passed out drunk and taking care of him through the rest of the night and following morning?'I sort of borrowed from a certain heart scene...





	Cliffs

The woods are dark tonight – granted, that’s the perfect time for them to be dark, really, but tonight the moon is clouded and the rain is pattering against your sou’wester, and you walk between the trees aimlessly. You know that you crossed the river – you can smell the stink of the sewer, and for a moment you consider veering off-

-and then you emerge from the trees onto the edge of the cliffs above the beach, tide roaring below you, and you see the figure in the rain.

“Shane?”

Your voice is barely audible through the rain, but the figure – hair slick with rain and a bottle of whiskey in one hand – tries to push himself up, and fails.

“…(Y/N).”

You stare, and then realise that around him are beer bottles, cans… it seems like he’s walked into Pierre’s and just bought everything alcoholic he could carry. You step forward, and he tries to push himself up, a little more successfully this time.

“I’m s-sorry.” He blinks blearily, and you kneel down. Oh god. Oh god, what is the protocol for this situation? He’s slurring so badly you can barely tell what he’s saying, and you swallow sharply. “M-my life…”

“Shane, it’s gonna be okay,” you whisper. Maybe if you run for Marnie’s… but it’s late, and by the time you get back-

“It’s a pathetic joke.” He’s mumbling to himself, face grey, and you wonder if he’s going to be sick. Should you make him? You think maybe you should. “Look a’me…”

“Shane, I need you to try to stand up.” He can barely lift his head. You stare at him, and feel so useless for a moment you nearly cry – but then you put your hand under his arm to try to haul him up. You’re a farmer. You carry feed around for chickens. You wrangle stubborn cows. You  _have_  to move Shane…

“Why do I even try?” he asks, and you realise – you couldn’t tell at first, with the rain – that his face is streaked with tears. “I-I’m too small’n stupid to t-take control of my life…”

“Shane, you’re very drunk. Please.” Your voice is small, out here, in the wild, with nothing but rain and trees and darkness for far too far, and he blinks at you a few times. “Let me help you-”

“I’m just a piece of soiled g-garbage…” He blanches even further, and you wonder if he’s gonna vomit or pass out or what. “-fl-flittering in the wind.” You try and haul him up, but he’s heavy with apathy, like a toddler who doesn’t want to be carried. “I’ve been comin’ here often lately, l-looking down…”

“No, Shane.” Your heart hurts as you try to haul him up again, and he shakes his head, using his knee as leverage to push you away.

“Here’s a chance to finally take control of my life,” he mumbles. “These cliffs.” He turns to look – barely five feet away, the forest drops sharply, and you can hear the waves crashing below with the rain’s fury.

“Shane,” you whisper.

“But I’m too s-scared…” He sways, slumped on his knees, stained with what you are praying to god is mud and not blood all over his legs. “Too anxious.” He draws the word out, and you close your eyes.  _How is this happening?_  “Just like always.”

The hatred in his voice, aimed at himself, breaks your heart.

“Shane, don’t do it-”

“(Y/N), all I  _do_ i-is work…” He hiccups. “-sleep, and drink t-to dull the feelings of…” He waves his arms around. “S-self hatred. Fuck.” He looks at you, and those grey eyes are sharp, even through the mist of alcohol. “ _Why?_ ” He pushes himself up suddenly, reeling back, and you jolt forward; he steps back, and you freeze. “Why should I even go on?! Tell me.” His voice is accusatory now. “Tell me why I shouldn’…  _roll_  off this cliff, righ’now.”

Your heart hurts, and you close your eyes.

“Shane, I’m here for you,” you whisper, and he stares at you. “The decision… I can’t make it for you.” You’re stalling for time, desperately hoping his next drunken lurch carries him forward, not backwards, but- “But I’m here for you, Shane. I’m here.”

He stares at you, eyes the colour of the moon through the clouds, and then shakes his head.

“Thanks.” His tone is low, even more self-loathing than before. “I appreciate that. I really do.” He leans forward, and you jump, catching him as he stumbles. You hold him, smelling the stink of stale alcohol on him. “(Y/N)?”

“Yeah?” you whisper.

“I think you sh-should take me to the hospital now…”

* * *

Harvey looks at you, stoney-faced, as you stand outside the curtain anxiously. The young doctor – well, younger than most doctors you’ve ever had – wouldn’t let you stay with Shane as he treated him. Maybe for the best, you think, quietly.

“I’ve pumped his stomach and rehydrated his body,” he says, quietly. “He’s going to be okay. It’s…” He pauses, and looks at you. “Good. That you brought him in, though.” You nod, tear-streaked. “Too much alcohol is terrible for the body, but… right now, I’m most concerned about his mental health.”

“He was… I’ve never seen him like this.”  _Out of all the Shane’s you’ve seen, you think numbly – the gridball fan, the sullen retail worker, the quiet farmer, you’d only seen the barest hint of this. You’d missed this. You had been his friend – hoping for a little more, even, although it hurt to say – and you’d missed this._

“When he comes to,” Harvey says, a little gentler, “I’ll have a chat with him about his treatment options. I know an excellent counsellor in Zuzu City.” He reaches out, and gently pats your arm. “Life can be painful, sometimes…” You nod. “But there’s always hope for a better future. You’ve got to  _believe_  that.” He looks back at the curtains.  _He missed this too_. Both of you share in that moment of doubting yourselves, and you shake your head.

“I…”

“You didn’t cause this,” Harvey says, still in that gentle tone of voice. “You saved his life, probably. You say you found him?” You nod, and he squeezes your arm. “I’ve… I called Marnie. She hasn’t told Jas, I think she’s coming up here now. Perhaps you could go and watch her. You two we-are close?”

“Yes,” you whisper. You and Shane were… something was budding, like cherry blossom in spring, although whether Shane felt love or affection or friendship or… anything for you was never possible to read.  _You failed at reading him_ , you think, and Harvey squeezes your arm again.

The door swings open, and Marnie’s there – she’s in her black cotton nightdress with a mac as red and faded as her hair over the top and a pair of comically-bright-blue galoshes, and when she locks eyes with you, she rushes over and hugs you tightly.

“Thank you, miss,” she murmurs, and you smile at her weakly. “I… is he…”

“He’s sleeping, Ms. Marnie,” Harvey says, and as you edge towards the door, neither notice you leaving.

* * *

You open your eyes, and check the clock as another knock at the door resounds. It’s 5:58. What’s going on…? You haul yourself up, and reason that whoever it is, if they want you at your dungarees, can handle you at your pyjamas, and you open the door.

“Hey-”

Shane is watching you, and you freeze.  _Oh god_. Last night floods back. He looks horrible, to be honest – his usual bearlike frame seems unusually small, his cheeks pale and hollow, but he’s alive.

“Miss,” he says, voice hoarse. “Uh…” He swallows sharply. “Oh man. How do I say this?”

“Shane, it’s okay,” you start, just as croaky.

“I’m really sorry about what happened at the cliffs,” he cuts you off. “That was embarrassing.”

“I’m just happy you’re still here,” you say, very quietly, and he stares at you.

“It was that serious? I can barely… remember…” He shakes his head, and you realise that he has  _definitely_  not slept. He must’ve checked himself out of Harvey’s clinic and headed straight here. You almost want to march up there, grab Harvey by the moustache and give him a shake. “Well, I’ve decided I want to see a therapist.” He swallowed. “Harvey got me in touch with a colleague of his.”

“If he did that before 6am, it was definitely that serious,” you say, quietly, and he nods, watching you warily.

“Anyway… I just wanted to thank you for… taking care of me.” He smiles at you, and you are captivated by that smile for a moment. It’s so awkward and wide and  _genuine_. “And I want you to know that I’m going to take things a little more seriously from now on.” You find yourself smiling back. “I don’t want to be a burden on anyone…” He looks away, and you want to reach out and grab him so badly it scares you for a minute.

“You’re not, Shane.” You yawn widely, and he smiles at you.

“You’re tired. I’m sorry. I was… I was gonna walk home. Harvey’s put out feelers for anyone who’ll take me. I just…” He shakes his head, and then next second you’ve been snatched up in a hug. “I can’t believe someone would see something in me they wanted to save.”

You lean your head on his shoulder, and he puts you down gently, before stepping back.

“Anyway, I’ll let you get back to… waking up,” he says, cheeks red, and you smile. “But thank you, (Y/N). More than you can know.”


End file.
